Where those angels roam, there I will watch
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: Everything always seems to happen to the Winchesters, but the rest of the world does, in fact, still exist. And the world isn't walking around completely blind and oblivious. After all, it's not every day that stars come crashing to the ground. Somebody was bound to notice. A series of outsider!povs for the season 8 finale. Co-Written with TheResurrectionist.
1. Start Of The Breakdown

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_TheResurrectionist_****.**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: Hey you guys! First time co-writing and it's been a lot of fun. Outsider!POV is one of my favorite tags too, so this was a big bundle of excitement for me the last few days. Many thanks to if-llamas-could-fly for late night PMs and better organization than me. However this goes, it's been a lot of fun! Hope you guys enjoy, and if you didn't see the description, spoilers for the Season Eight Finale. **

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****: Hey guys! I've never ever co-written before, but I've heard that if you're gonna do it, then it has to be done with somebody who you can collaborate with. Thankfully, I found the writer who shares my ideas and is an amazing person to just talk to. ****_TheResurrectionist_**** is one of my favorite writers ****_ever_****, and I am so happy to be working with her! Her writing's amazing in this chapter, so to read some epic stuff, I suggest you hurry up and read this already. Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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_**Start Of The Breakdown**_

Yesenia remembers the night the sky fell, even though she shouldn't.

She remembers how the night started, the drawn out hours at a job nobody wanted (and a lot of people had). How the coffee was just a little too cold and how the light above her desk kept flickering no matter how many times she yelled at it. And yeah did she yell, because when it's two in the morning and you haven't seen anyone for six hours it's completely sane to yell at inanimate objects.

That was before the lights went out completely, though. She stopped yelling as the emergency lights flickered on and waited for the inevitable call from the main office. Strange that the weather would knock the power out when it looked like it was only drizzling outside, but it wasn't her problem. It was so far away from being her problem that it was already gone from her mind when the first person (thing, creature, different) came stumbling through the door.

A frantic woman had another girl around her shoulder, tears streaming down her face as she rushed into the emergency area. Her eyes were wide with fear as she carried the other limp person in, stopping to yell for help.

Yesenia rushed from behind the desk after hitting the emergency switch, taking the almost-unconscious woman from her hands.

"What happened?" She asked the scared woman as she laid the woman down on the floor gently. A tattered suit was all she wore, and what looked like burn marks were visible underneath the thin cotton.

"I don't know, I don't know." The woman sobbed. "I was out on the highway and there was this light, and…"

Yesenia cut the rambling woman off with a hand. "I need you to stay calm, okay?" She asked the woman firmly. "What's your name?"

The woman put a hand to her throat, taking a deep breath. "Rhea. My name's Rhea."

Yesenia nodded at her, quickly running her hands down the unresponsive woman's body. Besides the burns, there seemed to be no reason for the woman to be so sedate. "Rhea, did you hit her with your car?"

The woman gasped. "No! Oh my God, no I didn't, I swear!"

"Rhea, I need you to be honest." Yesenia looked up, wondering where the hell her backup was. "Rhea?"

"She fell." The woman said with glazed eyes, clenching her hands viciously. "She fell out of the sky and…she was on..fire. I didn't hit her…She fell."

"She fell?" Yesenia paused, running her hand back up to the woman's neck. She hadn't felt any spinal injuries the first time.

"Did you see what she fell from?" She asked Rhea. The woman was almost catatonic for a minute, staring off into nothing. "A tree, a building, a car? Come on, I need you here, Rhea!" She snapped her fingers in front of the woman's face. "Rhea!"

The woman startled, eyes going impossibly wide. "The sky." She breathed out. "She fell from the sky. I swear, that's what I saw."

With that, her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted hard to the floor. Yesenia reached out a hand just in time to cradle her head. Seriously, where the hell was everybody?

She made sure Rhea was breathing before re-checking the other woman's neck. She rolled her limp weight with a careful but deft flip, running her hands down to check her back and neck one last time. Within three seconds, the worst moment of Yesenia's life began.

The moment her hands hit two tears in the fabric, the woman beneath her jerked violently. An earth-shattering scream split the air, high and keening to the point of pain as it shattered the last of Yesenia's calm. She retreated quickly from the gaps in the fabric, but the damage seemed to have been done.

"No," The woman sobbed to the floor, curling around herself and grasping her stomach with white-knuckled hands. "NO!"

Yesenia stumbled back and fell as the woman screamed again, horror enveloping her. She tried to grasp some bandages from the cart above her but her hands were shaking all of a sudden. Steeling herself, she made a decision.

She needed to get back in control.

"Lady!"

The woman kept sobbing, breaking the night with screams and tears.

"Jesus Christ, Lady! Can you hear me?!" Yesenia shouted at the crazed woman. "Hey, hey! What's your name?"

A kick met her when she tried to get close, but it was shaky and clumsy enough for her to evade. Crazy woman went back to screaming, tears streaming down her face to the dirty linoleum floor.

She didn't notice as Yesenia plunged the needle of a sedative into her neck, standing just outside of kicking distance. Her eyes widened until the whites showed, closing as she slumped back to the floor. Her arms were still curled around herself, like she was some child in the throes of a nightmare.

Jesus Christ Yesenia thought to herself, and that about summed it up. She rolled the woman gently onto her stomach again and cut away the suit with a scalpel. A grisly sight met her as she put on gloves.

Twin burn marks dug into the woman's back, so deep she could see bone through the blackened flesh. It was past any third degree burn Yesenia had ever seen, and the sight alone was enough to make her shudder. The muscle had been burned off as well, leaving a clear liquid around the surviving tissues that smelled almost acidic. She tentatively prodded one of the burns with a gloved fingertip.

A ripple went through the woman, but she didn't wake. Shaking her head, Yesenia walked over and grabbed a cot. She was just barely strong enough to maneuver the woman onto the bed, leaving her facedown so the burns were still visible.

The doors slammed open behind her and she turned quickly, relieved to see Tom's face. Her relief soon faded as he wheeled another stretcher behind him, face pale.

"Tom?" Yesenia prodded as she ran to help him. "What happened? And where is everyone?"

Tom looked down at his stretcher, and Yesenia noticed a series of bloody scratches across his cheek.

"Got a call." He breathed out a second later. "I showed up and he started screaming at me, wouldn't show me what was wrong. He got me." He said, pointing at his face. "So I knocked him out. I have no idea what's going on."

"Has anyone responded to other calls?"

He shifted, running a hand absentmindedly to his face. "Radios are down, but I don't think that's the only reason."

"Something's going on." Yesenia murmured, ill feeling curling in her gut.

Tom frowned. "What makes you say that?"

She looked down at the unconscious man; her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the burned suit. "Roll him onto his stomach."

"What?" Tom asked dazedly.

"You heard me. C'mon."

He helped her shift the man, rolling him gently until the tell-tale gaps in the suit were visible.

"Look." She whispered, peeling away the rest of the burned suit. The same tell-tale burns were visible on his back, going down to the bone with the clear liquid surrounding them.

"Jesus Christ." Tom breathed next to her. "How the hell did you know that?"

She pointed towards the unconscious woman on the cot nearby. "She has the same burns. Tried to knock me out too."

"What is this, some kinda cult thing?"

Yesenia shrugged. "I'm guessing. Hell, I don't know, but we gotta start treating these burns. I've never seen them this bad before."

Tom looked down at the burns on the man's back before shaking his head in disbelief. "This is crazy. Okay, I'll take the guy, you got the girl. Where's the supplies?"

"Back shelf."

He ran back and got them, quickly applying the ointment to the burns that looked treatable. Yesenia did the same, working through the disgust she hadn't felt since her first year of medical school.

"Did they say how they found her?" Tom asked absently when they were done.

"Oh shit!" She said, turning around. Rhea was gone when she checked the corner she'd been in.

"What?" Tom asked, startled.

"I had a lady bring the first one in. Said something about her falling off of something, but I didn't find any spinal injuries. Only the burns."

Tom sighed, placing a hand over his eyes. "I got the same call. Some drunk lady saying she saw a fire and this guy falling. Good thing he fell onto grass, though."

"Fire?" Yesenia asked. "That would work for the burns, I guess. Did you see anything?"

"It looked like there was a meteor storm going on, actually." Tom said. "But that wouldn't make sense. People falling from the sky?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I still don't know why no one's here."

"I'm sure the radios are just down because of the meteor shower or whatever." Yesenia said, but the words tasted off in her mouth. Tom nodded like that was absolutely correct, eyes getting a little glazed from what she guessed was a lack of coffee or sleep.

"Here." She said, tossing him some change. It dropped to the floor, past his hands. He dully gathered it from the floor, looking at her in confusion.

"Go caffeine-ate. There's a machine around the corner."

He nodded before walking off, fatigue apparent in his movement. A minute later, he returned with a large cup of coffee and a little more awareness.

"Thanks."

She nodded, checking on her patients one more time. Their emergency room was small, considering the size of others she'd worked in, but the largest for many miles. Her only other patient was a small old man overnight for hip surgery the day before.

Ten minutes later, the emergency lights flickered off as the normal fluorescents came back on. She sighed in relief as her radio buzzed and the normal sound of voices returned.

"Ambulance Operator to Emergency Room." A voice spoke quickly. "You're about to get swamped, we've got about ten buses coming in."

"Ten?" Tom asked in shock. "Do we even have that many ambulances?"

Yesenia pushed the talk button. "Got you. Any descriptions so far?"

"Burns." Was the only reply. Tom spoke.

"So there was a fire somewhere. Does that mean that-"  
He was cut off by the sound of sirens. They both got fresh gloves on and stood by the entrance doors, entirely unsure of what they were about to see.

Maybe that was a good thing, looking back.

No warning and suddenly there was a cacophony of noise, screams, sobs and medical equipment amplified until it was like hearing everything underwater. Carts rolled in with people in restraints, the same professional suits burned and ripped. Strange bursts of light flooded the room periodically from outside, but nobody seemed to acknowledge them. Some people were covered in mud or water while others were clean. There was no sense to any of it, and all Yesenia could do was grab a roll of bandages and dive in.

The next hour was a blur of burns and screaming, of restraints and a deep confusion. Nobody seemed to know what was going on, and the mental state of all of the victims was the most chilling part. Yesenia couldn't begin to count all of the screaming she'd heard, but in her personal opinion the silence was the worst. Instead of screaming, some of the patients just gazed blankly at the ceiling, catatonic in a way even some of the most seasoned workers had never seen.

It looked like something was on fire outside, but nobody made a move to leave the room.

* * *

"No, no." The blonde woman Yesenia was currently treating kept sobbing. She felt chills run down her spine as she remembered the first woman and how she'd sobbed the same thing. It was said so brokenly, as if..

As if she'd lost something. Like they'd all lost something.

She caught Tom a few minutes later, working on patients next to each other. A dozen people were shouting and running around her, confusion and panic rampant. Even sedated, the victims were a terrifying reminder that something wasn't right—Even though everyone was pretending it was.

"Do you know what they're saying about this so far?" She asked Tom, speaking quietly.

He shrugged. "Massive fire was the best guess anyone had." He replied. "But I don't think that can account for the location of the burns. They keep asking the victims, but they're too…distressed…to respond. We've had to sedate almost all of them."

Yesenia nodded in sympathy, finishing a bandage on the small woman in front of her. She'd been one of the only ones they hadn't had to sedate, curling into herself and crying silently. She was a tiny thing, blonde and slim, and for this to have happened to her…

It was unspeakable. It made all of the motherly feelings in Yesenia rise up. How could anyone have done this to all of these people?

When she looked back down, the young girl was staring up at her with some lucidity, eyes tracking her every movement.

"Honey?" Yesenia prodded, kneeling next to her cot. "Can you hear me?"

A slight sniffle was all that she got, but it was a sign. Leaning forward, she moved the girl's hair out of her face.

"Sweetie, can you tell me your name?" She asked gently, running a soothing hand down the side of her face. The girl shifted, mouth working a few times before she spoke.

"Simiel." A soft voice said delicately. "My name is Simiel."

Yesenia smiled at the small victory but kept her emotions in check, feeling Tom move closer behind her. "Simiel, can you tell me what happened?"

The girl closed her eyes viciously for a second, tears leaking out slowly. When she opened them, they were so pain filled Yesenia knew it couldn't just be the burns that were so terrible.

"My father cast us out of heaven." She said quietly. "He was gone, and now he punished us to live in your world."

What?

"You've got to be kidding me." She heard Tom say above her. "You fell from…heaven? Does that make you angels or something?" He broke off into frantic laughter, finally showing the cracks from the stress of the night. Yesenia silenced him with a sharp gesture, turning back to Simiel.

"Why did your father throw you out?" She asked, placing a hand on the girl's forehead. It was warm, almost feverish.

"I don't know." Simiel said brokenly, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know." She repeated even quieter, curling even further into herself. She was silent, and wouldn't speak again.

"This is crazy." Tom said.

"You're telling me."

"No, I mean, that you believed her!" Tom said loudly. "That she's an angel? I mean, come on, Yesenia."  
"It's just a really bad night." She said diplomatically. "I'm not really sure what to believe."

"Me neither." Tom muttered before walking off.

The government came three hours later, and if that wasn't much of a surprise, the trucks that came with them were. Large and white, men dressed in bright yellow scrubs with giant helmets on their heads poured out of them swiftly and efficiently. They almost would've resembled a bunch of cheery astronauts save for the grim expressions hidden behind the large glass masks. The second they entered, the chaos that had been the emergency room for the last three hours quieted. Cots were rolled out before anyone could stop them, loaded up into the large white trucks. Some of the victims woke, whimpering in ways Yesenia had only ever heard from wounded soldiers.

They were gone within half an hour and nothing remained to prove their existence. TV and radio were down again, and of all things it had started raining.

Yesenia tore outside, desperate for something she couldn't put a name to. She stopped dead in her tracks as she stood in the parking lot, gaping at the world around her.

Slow streams of golden light tore through the dark clouds, spiraling down and disappearing. Thousands of gold streaks split the night sky, gorgeous and infinitesimal in a way that made Yesenia feel oh so very small.

She could almost see the outline of a human body within the light before she turned and ran back into the building. Screams chased her, imaginary and real as tears streamed down her face.

Some things were better left forgotten, and this was one of them.

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**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****:**** There's more to come! Many thanks to my sister for her quick beta and to ****_if-llamas-could-fly_**** for helping out. Co-writing is fun!**

**_if-llamas-could-fly:_******** Okay then, that was awesome! Cheers to ****_TheResurrectionist_**** for raising and setting the standard that the rest of the chapters have to be now. This project is ****_amazing_**** fun, and will be continued for as long as we think it's flowing. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! :) **_~Sammy_


	2. My Fallen brother has Wings

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_if-llamas-could-fly._**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: And here's the magical poetry that keeps me up at night. ****_If-llamas-could-fly_**** is really great at poetry, and this chapter doesn't disappoint!**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****: Okay, ****_obviously_****, I'm sorta cheating with this chapter, what with it being poetry and whatnot, but hey, we never claimed to be ****_not_**** posting poems. ****_Yay to loopholes!_**** Anyway, more outsider!POVs. How wonderful. Let's all just pretend like this is perfectly normal, and that you're all not just dying from feels. I'd like to apologize in advance for any severe feels overload caused by this story. Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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**_My Fallen brother has Wings_**

Years ago, back when we were young.

My brother left to join the war, to fight.

Years ago, my brother left and was lost.

Missing in that bloody morning light.

Years ago, and every day since, I cried.

I'd pass his empty grave, the solid ground.

Years ago, I finally understood Fate's cruelty.

It's Love we hate and Loss we found.

Years ago, I couldn't sleep at night.

Bullets and bombs in my every thought.

Years ago, my dreams were nightmares.

And I saw my brother dying, shot.

Years ago, my hair wasn't gray and gone.

I didn't cry to myself and the heavens before.

Years ago, my brother wasn't dead and missing.

And I knew what all the fighting was meant for.

Years ago, I said my goodbyes, let him go.

I never thought I'd see him, or ever say his name.

Years ago, I thought we'd both grow old.

But now he's here and he looks the same.

Years ago, I never believed in angels.

I never had any faith to call my own.

Years ago, my brother used to pray.

And now my brother-angel's wings have shown.

Years ago, my brother said the stars would fall.

Said Heaven would collapse and fall apart.

Years ago, I laughed at the thought of falling haloes.

But now, I say that he's been right from the start.

Days, hours, minutes, seconds ago, I wept.

Because my brother stood before me, unknowing.

Years ago, my brother was an angel's vessel.

Now he's fallen, and I can't stop crying.

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**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: Don't forget to leave a review! And keep reading, there's more to come! :)**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****_:_**** So... that happened. I swear, we've bought these giant crates of tissues in preparation for you guys just crying all over the place, so if you need one, don't hesitate to ask. Thanks for reading! Maybe leave a review? :) **_~Sammy_


	3. Friendly Fire

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_TheResurrectionist_****.**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: More outsider!pov. Many thanks as always to ****_if-llamas-could-fly_****, who runs the world secretly. I had a ton of fun working on this story with you.**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****: Hey guys! So, obviously, we both decided that this was too much of an awesome idea to just let go so... more chapters await you. Anyway, this is another awesome story by ****_TheResurrectionist_****. Read it, and freak the hell out over how awesome it is. :)** _~Sammy_

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_**Friendly Fire**_

"I've got another one on the west interstate, you want Bill to take it?"

Max's voice crackled through the receiver, which of course was getting even worse reception than usual because of the storm. Harry groaned and pressed the talk button down, thunking his head on the hard-ass headrest.

"No, I can take this one, but jesus-fucking-christ could this get any worse?" Harry grumbled back to base camp, letting all of the irritation of the last eight hours show on his face.

"It's just a bad set of rain, it'll get better." Max's comforting voice broke through. "You're doing great, and if they ignore your bad language problem, I'm sure you'll get that promotion next month no problem, kiddo."

Harry smirked a little at that, sitting up to reply. "Very funny. Flattery how you got your job too?"

"Fuck off." The older man muttered affectionately. "Being base camp ain't something you can just apply for. Ya gotta earn it through respect. Ever heard of something like that?"

"I don't see you out here in the fucking hurricane." Harry bit back. "I bet it's real nice being dry an' all." He started the truck with a low rumble, wincing in sympathy as she almost didn't turn over.

"Do your job, Bardwell. We'll talk about me getting wet later, if ya know what I mean."

Harry wrinkled his nose at that, wondering for the millionth time that day why he'd decided being a ranger was a great life plan. He certainly hadn't been expecting Max, that was for sure.

"Alright, I'm heading west now. You said they were between the camp site and the interstate?"

A burst of static cut through the line before Max responded. "Yeah, it's what emergency crews said. Make sure you check in before you let 'em leave."

"Gotcha. Bardwell out."

He carefully maneuvered the truck onto the road, keeping his lights low as the torrential rain beat against the windshield. It was practically opaque until he got the wipers moving with a low sigh, screeching across the old glass. He was about two miles out from the area he needed to be getting to, and really nobody should drive in rain like this because goddamn was it terrible. Every few feet the tires felt like they were about to slip, and Harry's heart stalled with every bump the truck went over.

Two miles of careful driving later and he saw the car's taillights red and blurry in front of him. The rain was lighter in this area and he could see pretty decently, enough to frown at the tire in the back of the car that was oh-so-loverly flat. And, of course, the other two were dug into the mud like nobody's business.

Harry let out a curse that would've done Max proud and absolutely did not facepalm. Obviously, it was his true goal in life to be unlucky because changing a tire in this kind of rain seemed so…

Not appealing.

He threw his (damp) hat back on and grasped the door handle, leaping out of the cab deftly. The air was suddenly thick around him, wet and ozone-filled as he breathed it in. It smelled like home and a billion other things, like a dream he wasn't supposed to remember and the sky at night-things that weren't meant to be recognized for what they truly were.

It was humbling and invigorating, oddly enough.

He shook that feeling away and paced quickly to the side of the car, shaking the rain out of his already-wet hair as he leaned down to tap on the window.

Tap and suddenly there was a large pair of brown eyes widening at him. A young woman of about twenty stared in shock for a second before rolling down the window.

"You get stuck?" Harry asked politely, angling so she could see the badge on his uniform. "Ranger Bardwell, Ma'am. Emergency services sent me."

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, we hit something, a rock, I dunno, and then this happened." She gestured weakly at the tilted car. "I'm really sorry this happened. I know y'all are busy."

Harry nodded out of reflex as the words hit home. "Yeah, we-" He cut himself off from showing how pissed he was. "We're always available for help, Ma'am. Do you need a ride back to the station?"

She nodded again, biting her lip softly. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. Actually, I've got my dog in the backseat…"

Harry restrained a sigh and opened the door, sending her a small smile. "It's not problem, Miss…?"

"Stevie." She said as she clambered out, opening the other door to grab a small lap-dog Harry realized he really didn't care about, big shocker.

"Let's get back to the truck and we'll head to the station then, alright? You can come back to your car when the rain's done."

"It looks about done." She said softly, tilting her head to the skies. Sure enough, the droplets were already thinning, dark sky almost visible up above. Harry snorted in disbelief (and a little chagrin) as he moved back to the truck.

Once Stevie and her dog were loaded up, Harry stopped to consider the skies one last time.

Huh. Sure enough, the rain was nearly gone, and with it most of Harry's irritation. The air around him almost seemed hot all of a sudden, burning in a way rural Minnesota never did. He frowned before bringing a hand to his head, testing the warmth there. No fever, but maybe the night was just getting to him.

Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts and jumped into the cab next to Stevie and the dog. She looked up at him a little nervously, brown eyes disappearing into the fur of her dog when she pressed her face to its neck. He sighed internally and buckled up, starting the truck and pulling carefully onto the interstate.

Five minutes later, Stevie's hand snuck forward and flicked the radio on. He was about to object (He was a Ranger and it was his car, by the way) when she tuned it to the local classic rock station and settled back into her seat. He frowned at her for a second but kept driving, humming along with some Def Leppard song he kept forgetting the words to.

Oh, all I wanna do is take a ride into the blue  
Ev'ry time I want to love you I get stuck inside my room  
Heaven knows I'm sick and tired of dancing with this broom  
I feel lucky today

A large burst of static completely cut off the next lyric, swallowing the song whole. He looked down irritably at it, which turned to confusion when the radio literally started smoking.

"What the hell?" He muttered, grabbing the steering wheel and throwing it to the right. Stevie yelped as the car stopped roughly at the side of the road.

"Oh my God." Stevie whispered a second later, leaning out of the window.

"It's just a malfunction." Harry muttered irritably. "I'm sure it's just-"

She cut him off. "No. Holy shit-Oh my god. Look." She pointed out of the window, straight up to the night sky above.

"What?" He asked, frowning out the glass. "I don't see anything-"

He stopped, mouth agape as the world lit up around him.

"Holy shit."

"That's not real, right? It's some punk'd show thing." Stevie frantically muttered next to him in disbelief.

Gold lines split the night as what looked like blurry shapes fell from the sky. It was nothing like any meteor shower Harry had ever seen, and he'd seen many.

He hadn't even realized he was still driving until one of the gold shapes fell nearly straight in front of them. He swerved suddenly, brakes screeching as the tires tried to grip the wet ground. Stevie screamed as they skidded, throwing her hands up to cradle her face.

Harry cursed loudly and jerked the wheel, but it did no good. A tree appeared in his headlights and he cringed, bracing for the worst.

The crash was deafening to Harry, or maybe it was Stevie's scream. He heard a crunching sound before everything went viciously red and then dark.

Harry woke to the sound of the truck's engine running, dull noise ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes only to close them swiftly a second later, pain lancing through his skull like someone had a mallet and was hammering away in there.

The last time he'd had a concussion, he was seventeen and it was a hell of a lot less painful than this. He groaned as he felt blood trickle from his nose and forced his eyes open.

Stevie's dead face stared back at his own, pale and bloody as it rested against the dashboard.

She wasn't wearing her seatbelt, and Harry could see the dead body of the dog in her lifeless hands. Swallowing back bile, he tried not to look into her brown eyes as he surveyed the rest of the crash.

The truck's engine had taken most of the damage, crumpling and dropping like all of the safety brochures said it would. Stevie's door was crushed in, but Harry's looked intact. He pushed the lock and tried the handle, wincing when pain shot up his arm. He hurt EVERYWHERE, from his spine to his limbs to his head. He'd forgotten how much car crashes hurt.  
He managed to get the door open, arms stinging with pain as he lifted himself out. Placing a hand on the frame of the car, he gently put one leg on the ground.

Instead of supporting him, his leg crumpled underneath him and folded to the ground. He screamed as pain seemed to radiate up his spine, digging into every nerve he owned. He blacked out, gray spots dancing around his vision nauseatingly.

He woke on the grass this time, facedown in the wet mud. Turning his head, he flinched as the wreck came in sight and turned away. He needed to get to the road, so they could save Stevie.

His concussion seemed worse than the last time he'd thought about it, and all of his thoughts we sluggish and tined with red. He was supposed to remember something about Stevie, something he needed to tell someone…

Harry dug one elbow into the dirt and pulled himself forward. Another elbow and he was a good three feet from where he'd been, pain still radiating from ever muscle. A half-conscious part of him kept bringing up his legs, like wasn't he using them, why couldn't he feel them?…

He made it to the road in ten minutes, elbow bruised and dirty in seconds. No headlights lit the road, but out of the corner of his eye it looked like the meteor shower was still going on.

Was the thing they'd almost hit still on the road?

"Help!" He croaked out, voice breaking on the vowel. He didn't really expect anyone to hear him, but a small part of him kept insisting someone would.

It was probably the same part of him who believed in God, and the same part of him he usually ignored.

"Somebody help…" He tried to shout, voice failing him briefly. "Help. We crashed…there's a girl in the truck…please!"

Silence.

He felt tears streak down his face onto the asphalt beneath him. Nobody was coming.

He'd almost closed his eyes when a small movement in front of him caught his eyes. About twenty feet from where he was, a pile of branches stirred. Harry felt his heart race as his brain considered all of the possible animals it could be, deer, fox, wolf, bear, hell, dinosaur….

In the dark light, he could barely make out its shape until it stood unsteadily. Harry's eyes widened as he realized it was another person, and he started shouting again.

"Hey! You! Please, help me! Hello!" He screamed, desperation growing. "You gotta help me, man! Hey!"

The figure walked towards him slowly, a dark shape in the blackness. Harry even let himself smile as the person walked closer, ten feet, five feet…  
Harry reached his hands up, trying to get onto his knees to help. "Thank you so much, I just need to help my-"  
He cut off as the figure crumpled in front of him, facedown onto the asphalt in a motion so quick Harry barely tracked it.

"Hey..Hey buddy…" Harry trailed off, fear growing. "Talk to me. Hey?…hey?"

A strange scent hit Harry a second later, but everything was getting a little blurry.

"No, you gotta help me, man, there's someone in the tru…" His mouth stopped moving, but he felt so tired it didn't even really matter. Whatever he was lying on was pretty soft all of a sudden, too, and he felt almost warm.

Just before he died, Harry realized what the smell was.

Burning flesh.

* * *

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: Want more? Check out the next few chapters! Thanks, and don't forget to leave a review!**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****_:_**** Well then, that was epic. Leave a review, they inspire us to write more awesome stuff for you guys! :) **_~Sammy_


	4. When in doubt, get him a drink

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_if-llamas-could-fly._**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: And since I used third person, ****_if-llamas-could-fly_**** is mixing it up with some first person!:)**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****: Okay so, this chapter took ****_way_**** longer than it should have, and I have to thank ****_TheResurrectionist_**** for helping me out when I got stuck. Some warnings here, there is a ****_lot_**** of swearing in this chapter, and a lot of not-so-popular opinions being presented, but I swear that it was all necessary. Okay, now that ****_that's_**** covered, let's move on to the stpry! Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

* * *

**_When in doubt, get him a drink_**

I shifted on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable, because I was pretty sure that with the way things were going, I was going to have to keep my ass parked there for a couple of hours. Jackie was tipping back shots every three seconds, and she was already halfway down the lane to totally wasted. As her bridesmaid, it was my responsibility to make sure she didn't get alcohol poisoning, but I let her drink herself to oblivion. Being left standing at the alter by an asshole who ran off with some wannabe-actress tends to leave people feeling like shit, so I guessed that drowning oneself in alcohol was an acceptable coping mechanism.

I picked at the bowl of pretzels in front of me, and pulled a drag from the sweating bottle of beer in front of me. After about seven minutes of tracing out patterns in the wood-grain of the bar-table, I glanced up at the muted television. A stuck-up looking news-anchor seemed to be talking about something in a tone that couldn't be anything but two shades more than disinterested, considering the way she was perched _way_ too stiffly on her chair. The headlines flashing across the screen were the same they had been all week. All anybody had been talking about for the past five days was the crazy star show that had lit up the skies, as stars apparently crashed into the earth.

_Yeah, right._

I scoffed at the news report, and the blonde bartender looked over at me, still wiping down the rough tabletop. He glanced up at the television, then back at my disbelieving expression, and he reached up and switched the channel to some basketball game, earning quite a few whoops of approval from the drunk group of men standing over at one of the pool tables. The bartender took away my empty bottles and put a new one in front of me, popping off the top with a hiss. He grinned at me. "On the house."

I raised the bottle at him in a salute before taking a sip. "Thanks."

His smile turned knowing. "You looked like you needed it."

I nodded, and he leaned forward, propping himself up with one arm, the other still clutching a dishrag. "So, I'm going to assume that you don't really put much faith in the whole 'the sky is falling' thing?"

I shook my head and chuckled, albeit coming off rather tipsy. I really can't hold my alcohol. "Naw, I think it's just complete bull. I mean, seriously, who'd believe that the _stars_ are actually crashing into the ground? It's ridiculous."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at me. "So, what, you think that there's a reasonable explanation for it?"

I was pretty sure that my expression was conveying my thoughts of '_duh'_ in every way possible. "Look here... uh..."

"Jason. The name's Jason."

"Well then, _Jason_, listen up. _Everything's_ got a reasonable explanation. This whole star-falling crap isn't any different. It's probably just some freak meteor shower or something, nothing more."

Jason looked thoughtful for a few moments before shrugging. "I guess that that makes sense. You're probably the first logical drunk person I've gotten here, y'know, who _hasn't_ been yammering on about angels falling from the skies."

I scoffed. "_Angels? _Really? _That's_ what everybody thinks they are? Damn, and I thought that _I_ had issues."

Jason laughed then, and I looked around for one quick moment to see Jackie pressed up against some random dude, who was, by the way, _seriously hot_, her tongue rammed down his throat. And, okay, maybe my judgment wasn't at its best, what with the alcohol muddling my brain, and the attractive bartender Jason in front of me, but I just let her make out with Hot Dude, because honestly, she needed some cheering up. Anyway, it wasn't like I was gonna let her go home with him. I may have been drunk, but I wasn't a stupid drunk.

Jason tapped my arm, and when I turned back to him, his expression was serious again. In my drunken haze, it would've been funny, what with the little crease in between his eyebrows, and his gray eyes all business-like, but somehow I managed to keep myself from giggling like an idiot. His lips were moving, and I struggled to keep up with what he was saying. "So, you really aren't even going to _consider_ the possibility that the angel-theory is right?"

I shrugged, and straightened up. (When did I start sagging over the table?_)_ "I don't really even _believe_ in angels. I used to, when I was a kid. I'd pray every night y'know. I prayed for all those people who had less than me, who were worse off. I prayed for all the people who needed saving. I _never_ prayed fro selfish reasons. And then, the _one time_ I asked for something, nothing happened. I just prayed that my mom make it out of the hospital okay, that was it, but..."

Jason patted my shoulder, even as I brushed away the few tears that had collected in my eyes. I sighed. "Anyway, I stopped praying after that. I didn't believe anymore. So, no, I don't think that it was angels. But if it was, and it _was_ angels that were falling, then I'm glad. They deserve it, don't they?"

Jason was silent for a few moments, staring at the bottle cap he was twirling around in his fingers. I thought, for a minute, that he was mumbling something in latin, but I dismissed it as an alcohol induced hallucination, because the very next second he looked up and disarmed me with a smile, and _damn, were those dimples?_

I smiled back, because, hey, I was kinda drunk, the guy was cute, and who cares if he didn't answer my question? It was a rhetorical one anyway. Or, well, I _think_ it was. I took another sip from my fourth (_fifth?_) bottle of beer, and frowned when it turned out to be empty. Jason pulled out another bottle, but I waved it away, shaking my head. "No, I think I should stop now. I won't be any help to Jackie if we're _both_ completely wasted."

"Jackie that girl with Klein's tongue in her mouth?"

I nodded and rolled my eyes as best as I could without succumbing to nausea. Jason chuckled when Jackie looked away from Hot Dude Klein for a second to send me a cheery wave and blow a kiss in my direction. I waved back at her, and started picking at the pretzels again. Jason shot me one last smile, before drifting away to serve some new customers that had drifted in. I watched as he poured out drinks and chatted easily with everybody. An unfaltering grin was spread across his face, except for the few times he'd glance back up at he television, as if to reassure himself that it was still flickering with images of the basketball game. In those moments, there was a flash of wistfulness, and something that looked awfully like sadness.

* * *

Fifteen minutes into my impromptu game of Stare-At-The-Cute-Bartender, Jason walked through some door behind the bar, probably headed to a back room or something, and another bartender came up to replace him. I suppose that she was pretty, with her brown curls and her blue eyes. Her name-tag read as 'Amy', and she seemed good enough, but I sighed at the loss of my cute bartender friend.

I went back to tracing the swirls in the wood-grain, not even looking up when somebody collapsed into the stool next to mine. Amy bounced over and said, in a voice that was _way_ to happy to be natural, "Hey there, I'm Amy. What can I get ya?"

There was a heavy pause, and then the deep voice that answered her was laced with uncertainty. "I am not entirely sure what I am supposed to order. I have never been to an establishment like this before."

I looked up to see Amy standing there, her hands on her hips, a furrow between her brows. She looked appalled. "You mean to say that you've never been to a bar before?"

"I've never had the need to."

I turned, as surreptitiously as my drunkenness allowed, to look at the guy sitting at my side. He was all dressed up in a suit, but he looked like he'd been dragged through a meat grinder a few hundred times. Not to say that he wasn't attractive, because honestly, I'd kiss that face, it was just that he looked utterly disheveled. His tie was askew, his blazer was rumpled, his dress shirt was wrinkled, his light brown hair all over the place, his green eyes red-rimmed and haunted. He looked exhausted, and even as he slouched in his seat, he somehow managed to look stiff and awkward.

He looked like a kicked puppy, and I saw the exact moment where Amy's shocked demeanor changed to that of a woman cooing over a baby. "Oh, sweetie. What's your name honey?"

Another long silence, and when the man did answer, he sounded close to tears. I just barely managed to keep myself from hugging him. "I am known as Elidiah."

Weird name or not, Amy looked like she was three seconds short of squealing over how adorable he was, so I decided to save the poor guy from her. I cleared my throat. "Amy, how about you stop staring, and get the man a glass of whiskey. He looks like shit."

Elidiah's eyes widened, and I smiled apologetically at him. "Sorry. You _do_ look like crap, and I don't really have a brain to mouth filter when I'm drunk. Oh, and my name's Valerie, in case you were wondering."

"Valerie. She was an angel. In charge of keeping records, I think. I did not know much about her."

I shrugged, not _nearly_ drunk enough to get into specifics about the origins of my name. "Yeah, I guess I do have an angel name."

He sorta smiled at me, looking very unsure, and then there were a few _very_ awkward moments of complete silence, Elidiah still watching me intently. Amy popped up again, a tall glass of whiskey in her hands, and she placed it in front of him before bouncing away again. Elidiah looked bewildered for a few seconds, and I sighed. I nudged him with my elbow. "Drink it. You'll feel better."

Eli (when did I start calling the dude _Eli_?) stared at me with those damn green eyes for a few more seconds before picking up the glass and downing the whole thing in one quick gulp. He flinched, probably from the burn of the alcohol, and when he turned back to me, he was swaying a bit. "That is… very potent. It wasn't quite so strong the last time…"

He trailed off, and even as I watched, tears formed in his eyes. I put a hand on his shoulder in what, I _hope,_ came off as supportive. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

He just shook his head, looking absolutely devastated. "I'm so _weak_ now. I used to be so strong, almost invincible. I was a _leader_, one of the highest command, and now? Now I'm just sitting in some strange bar, and I cannot even consume a single glass of alcohol without becoming inebriated. I'm not strong anymore. I'm nothing."

I stared at him for a few moments, his words making absolutely no sense to me. Suddenly, something clicked within my booze-addled mind, and I could finally understand what he was saying. "Wait, you were a soldier? I- I didn't know."

He nodded, and somehow managed to look even more miserable. Amy slammed another drink down in front of him, and it too, suffered the same fate as the first one. All swallowed in one long sip. Then another drink, and another, and maybe a few shots of something strong and then a beer or two, and he's still somehow conscious. Drunk as hell, but conscious. Softly crying, but conscious. Stumbling and lost, but conscious.

"You know," he says, and I listen, because I'm still buzzed, Jackie somehow got bundled off into a cab and went home, and he's interesting. "I used to be respected. Used to be powerful. Used to follow orders and lead well, and I fought so much, I killed so many of my brothers. _Killed them_. Why'd I kill them? _Why?_ I could have disobeyed. I could have said no. It wasn't impossible. It had been done before. _He_ did it. _He_ disobeyed our superiors. Said that he'd do it his own way. Of course, everybody wanted him dead then, and he messed things up even more, but _he did it_.

"I hated all the wars. Hated how I had to keep _killing_. Just because it had been ordered. Just because _they_ wanted it. There're so many lives that ended because of me. So many fallen brothers. So much _fighting_. And the thing is, I didn't realize how bad it was, until I was forced out of it. I didn't realize how much I wished I could stop, until I was thrown out. And now, now I'm weak, and I'm lost, and getting drunk is too easy."

I was totally smashed, and my empathy levels weren't at their finest, but damn if I didn't want to shed a few tears of my own at the man's words. "I'm sorry. I can't pretend like I can understand what that was like, but I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Eli's lips twitched into something that could maybe pass off as a smile, and he sounded much less dunk than he did five seconds before. "Than you for your concern, and for your company. I had nobody with whom to speak, and I was rather lonely."

I frowned at his words. Didn't he have _anyone_? "Don't you have any family? Friends?"

He shook his head. "No. Well, I do have family, but I cannot reach them anymore, I don't even know where they are. As for friends, I was under the impression that _you_ were my friend. Or was I mistaken?"

I almost choked on my beer (and okay I wasn't supposed to drink anymore, but who really gives a shit?), and I spluttered incoherently for a few seconds before finally composing myself. "I don't- I mean, I… huh. I suppose we _are_ friends."

* * *

Five minutes later, I _may_ have possibly downed _another_ bottle of beer, and _maybe_ I was a little too drunk to even keep myself upright, but it was okay, because Elidiah was holding me up with his shoulder, and I was blabbering on about something. It wasn't really all that important or anything, but Eli was listening with rapt attention, like I was revealing the secrets of the universe to him. I was in the process of explaining how anybody who hated Harry Potter was an idiot, when a hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see a creepy-as-hell grin aimed at me, accompanied by bloodshot brown eyes that were seriously unfocused. The man was swaying, and his breath stank of a dozen different kinds of alcohol. "Hey there, hotness. How about you let me buy you a drink?"

I flinched back, and shook my head. "Thanks, but I think I'm good."

"C'mon doll, don't play hard to get. Just one drink."

Eli fixed the guy with one of his intense stares. "Sir, I believe that the lady has already said that she is not interested. Please do leave her alone."

The man chuckled and his grip on my shoulder tightened. "I wasn't talking to your gay ass. So how about you take your queer shit and tell someone who gives a damn. Me, I'm gonna have a drink with this chick here."

I scowled at him. "I told you already, I don't want one. Go hit on someone else."

The man looked more than a little bit pissed at that. "So, what? You just gonna sit here with this faggot wannabe soldier? Yeah, I heard what the pussy was whining about. I betchya that the bitch didn't even have the balls to raise a gun."

The hand was suddenly off my shoulder, and the asshole it belonged to was all the way on the other side of the room, sitting amongst the broken wood and glass of one of the tables. He looked dazed, but furious, and when the man wobbled to his feet, Elidiah literally growled, and stepped ahead of me. My mind finally made the connection, and I realized that it was Elidiah who had thrown the drunken ass across the room. Huh.

Eli, for his own part, had a fearsome expression on his face, and any doubt I had of him not being a soldier was wiped away. His fingers twitched, almost like they were reaching for something that should have been there, but wasn't. One split second of disappointment flashed in his green eyes, before they hardened again, hatred and anger seeping out from him like heat waves. When he spoke, the words came out amidst _snarls_. "Don't you _ever_ even _suggest_ that. Do not _dare_. I've been fighting battles from before you were even conceived. I have had to murder my _brothers_, all for ignorant humans like _you_. So never say that my brothers' sacrifice, that _my_ sacrifice means nothing. Because if it wasn't for me, you would not even exist. So I suggest, that _you show me some respect_."

The asshole, drunk-to-his-eyeballs as he may have been, sure heard the underlying threat in Eli's words, because his jaw twitched, and something like fear shone through his bravado. He lurched forward, staggering, and the gathered crowd parted in his wake. "I'm not going to respect some faggot just because he's got a fucking god-complex."

"Do _not_ take the Lord's name in vain."

"Yeah? Well what are you gonna do about it, cunt?"

The idiot loomed over Eli, and Elidiah looked him straight in the eye, fury rolling off of him. Then, in a flurry of movement that was over in half a second, Eli had the guy pinned under him, the asshole's arm twisted to an unnatural and definitely painful angle. I would have cringed in pity, but honestly, as much as I hate violence, the dude deserved it. The guy was moaning, almost definitely shedding a few tears, and he kept up a repetitive litany of _I'msorry I'msorry I'msorry I'msorry I'msorry._

Eli slowly stood up, releasing his death grip on the man, and I swear that for a moment, a gleam of something _pure_ and _righteous_ shone in his eyes. A gasp from behind me had Elidiah turning to look past me. I turned to see Jason standing there, a box in his hands, shock written clearly across his face. My vision blurred, first just around the edges, but soon darkness enveloped me, and the last thing I could hear was Eli's worried voice. "Jassoniel, help her."

* * *

Static was roaring in my ears, and I floundered in the darkness.

As I clawed my way back to consciousness, I could hear a pair of voices near me, and I concentrated on them, hoping to ground myself.

"Oh brother, I thought you were dead, _eons_ ago."

"I wouldn't make it that easy for Naomi. I ran."

"But her soldiers, they are powerful. Even Castiel-"

"Castiel escaped her grasp, Elidiah."

"Did you help him?"

A sigh. "No. Castiel's escape was different to mine. He overcame it. I fell."

"You- you _fell_?"

"I had no other _choice_. Raphael had already started his rampage, Michael was Father-knows-where, I had nowhere to hide."

"So you ripped it out? Jassoniel…"

"Tell me, brother, is it not freeing? Is it not beautiful? To be able to _feel_, to be able to _choose_? _This_ is what humanity is. _This _is what we were to protect. And this is what I chose. To be human, to have free will. It is a better fate than what Naomi had in store for me."

"Is it… good? This life?"

"It is, little one. It is a good life."

"Falling _hurt_. It hurts to have to breathe, to sleep. I'm scared that this life will hurt too."

"I know that you're scared, Elidiah. All our brothers and sisters are. I was too. It's different, strange. But it doesn't hurt. I promise you, it doesn't."

"Jassoniel?"

"Yes?"

"Is Valerie going to be alright?"

"She'll be fine. Just drank and had a bit too much excitement for one evening. She'll wake up soon."

"Will she remember any of this?"

"I don't think so. Alcohol tends to make people forget a lot. I wouldn't want her to remember, anyway."

"Why not?"

"She stopped believing in angels, Elidiah."

"_Why_?"

"We left one too many prayers unanswered."

* * *

I retched over the porcelain bowl, and Jackie rubbed my back supportively. I groaned at the smell of puke, and she chuckled. "You're such a lightweight Val, why'd you have to drink so much last night? You _know_ that you have seriously messed up hangovers."

I just threw up a bit more before panting out an answer. "Just because _you_ somehow _never_ get hangovers. S'not fair, you drank _so_ much more than I did last night."

"Well yeah, kinda got ditched by my fiancé and all. And I _do_ know my limits. You on the other hand… you threw up as soon as you walked into the apartment."

I moaned at the memory. "Oh God, don't remind me."

"What even _happened_ last night?"

"You were _there_, Jackie."

"Yeah, but I left before you _really _got wasted. So, spill. What happened?"

I shook my head, only succeeding in aggravating that damn headache. "I don't even know. There was something with that bartender, and then some other guy. Eli… something."

Jackie whistled. "Well now, _two_ guys? Not bad Val, I didn't know you had it in you."

I glared at her. "It wasn't like that."

Jackie just laughed and left some aspirin next to me.

I threw up some more.

Jackie must have turned the television on, because obnoxiously loud music was blaring from the depths of the apartment.

"I hate you!" I yelled.

"I know!" she tossed back.

Oh God, I needed new friends.

There was that stuck-up news anchor's voice again, still droning on about the 'widespread panic concerning what the government is calling a freak meteor shower'.

And this time, instead of the usual surge of skepticism and rationale, a single word echoed in my aching head.

_Angels_.

* * *

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: More to come soon, people, and don't forget to leave a review!:)**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****_:_**** And that's that for now! We'll be posting more, so be sure to look out for our next chapters! Reviews are candy to starving muses, so... Review! :) **_~Sammy_


	5. Saturday Night Forever

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_TheResurrectionist_****.**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****:**** And here's as far as I go for now! ****_If-llamas-could-fly_**** has been a doll to work with, but alas, I am taking a few weeks off. Please continue to enjoy her chapters and review!**

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****:**** Hey guys! So, this chapter is amazing, as always, and sadly, will be the last chapter that ****_TheResurrectionist_**** will write before going on a three-week 't worry, my stories won't stop, just her chapters. Anyway, read this chapter, drool over the epicness, and enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

* * *

_**Saturday Night Forever**_

It all started with a couple of beers, clichéd or not. Larry's Mama once told him bad decisions and alcohol went hand in hand, and she had probably been right. Then again, this was said over her third Guinness of the night, so Larry wasn't really sure about his Mama.

"Again, tell me again what the hell we're doing." Miguel said in that dumb way of his, leaning out the window a second later to throw his can out.

"Making money, puta." Larry said plainly, eyes on the road as they made their way out of the city. It was already past dark, the sky cold and uninviting in a way only the midnight hour could be. "Quick in, quick out. You know the drill."

Miguel gave him a confused look, which sadly only reinforced his pig-like face. "We never done a job this big before. Even I know that." He said dumbly, ghetto accent seeping through. "What the hell is this job worth anyway? I thought you said Carlos an' his gang were gonna take the big ones."

Larry resisted the urge to sigh, turning so he was staring straight at the dumb idiot. "I know what I said, but this job is good money, you hear? I ain't passing it on to that dumb fuck. You know he cheated us last time. Now don't fucking ask me again."

Miguel looked a little cowed, settling back into his seat a second later. His close-shaved hair shone oily in the lights of the overpass, just as dirty looking as Larry knew it really was. Miguel never took advantage of showers, which really was a crying shame. He didn't speak after that, probably taking a few minutes to process their conversation like he always did, the dumb shit.

Larry had mid-life crises all the time. Mostly when he was with Miguel, actually, even though he was barely pushing twenty-five. Five years prior he was surrounded by girls, better-than-average beer and everything the college life had to offer. If you'd asked him then what his life would be like in half a decade, he certainly wouldn't say robber, or drug dealer, smooth talker, idiot babysitter or anything else he was saddled with now.

Jesus. Just some simple sexual harassment charges were enough to lose a full-ride scholarship. Who knew?

Anyways, he'd found himself on the right corner at the right time, and with a little quick talking (he was pre-law) he was in.

What a mistake that was, he may never fully realize.

By the time they'd passed the end of the city limits, Miguel was snoring over his third beer. There was an empty cooler on the floor between his legs, which pissed Larry off to no end. He shoved an elbow in between the other man's ribs, effectively jerking him awake.

"Que? What?" Miguel stuttered, eyes glazed as he looked out the window before focusing on Larry. "Not cool, cavrone."

"Oh fuck off." Larry spit back. "Wake up. We gotta get ready for the job, remember? Can't do that with you asleep."

Miguel nodded slowly, reaching behind his chubby belly to his waistband. He pulled out a shiny pistol, rubbing the barrel as he brought it forward.

"You need to chill, man." He said to Larry. "I got everything. I even got something else you might want, man."

Larry resisted the urge to snort. "Like what, amigo?"

"This." Miguel said, pulling out a small plastic bag from his pocket. "Got it from that dude on the corner you always like. Good, right?"

Larry's mouth nearly watered as he saw the green hiding at the bottom of the bag. "You're fucking shitting me."

Miguel shook his head, dumb smile playing across his face. "Feliz cumpleaños, man."

"Not my birthday." Larry stuttered out between his excitement, barely able to keep his eyes on the road.

"Doesn't matter."

Larry shook his head. "That's some high quality shit, man. The hell did you get it?"

Miguel seemed to flourish under Larry's disbelief. "Pulled some strings. I got connections, man." He said, punching Larry in the shoulder to emphasize his point. Ignoring the shiver of revulsion that passed through him at touching the other man, Larry put on a smile.

"What are you waiting for? Roll that motherfucker!" He shouted the last word, throwing his hands up in the air a second later. Miguel gave a whoop, third beer can tipping over and fizzing all over the floor a second later. Miguel rolled the joint happily, dumb fingers surprisingly agile as he used the paper deftly. Minutes later, he lit up.

"You know man." Miguel said after his third drag, eyes hazy. "I think this is the most fun I've had in a long time."

"Uh huh?" Larry said, trying to concentrate on the road as he took another drag. The exit couldn't have been more than a few miles away now…

"Yeah. You're all, like…cool and shit. And now we get to go earn money cause you're so…smart. Yeah."

Larry just nodded along dumbly, feeling buzzed and happy and a little on top of the world. "That's cool, man."

Miguel's eyes widened. "I know, right?" He asked seriously, sitting up in his seat. "We gonna be some awesome motherfuckers. Ain't no one gonna mess with us." He grabbed his gun from the dashboard, aiming wildly at signs as they passed.

"Hey, man, don't—" He was cut off by the sound of the gun firing, amplified at such close quarters. The bullet hit the edge of a sign a few feet ahead, sparks flying wildly.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Larry asked sharply, but the haze was already descending back on him.

Miguel shrugged, yawning wildly. "How long till we get there?"

Half an hour, actually, though Larry didn't know at the time. The house wasn't hard to miss once they turned off the highway, though, so they got there eventually. Miguel was no help, sticking his head out the window and oohing at the lap of luxury that was Brownberry county or whatever the hell they called their stuck-up suburb. There were actually little monogrammed mailboxes at each driveway, which amused Miguel to no end.

"We gotta ride by here when we're done, man." He said breathlessly. "I got a baseball bat in the bag."

Larry shook his head, recognizing that as a bad idea even through the haze of the pot. "Hell no."

Miguel tried putting on his puppy dog face, which resulted in the return of the ugly pig one instead. "But Larry, man, c'mon-"

"No."

"You're no fun, pendejo." Miguel muttered but settled down. Five minutes later, they were driving up the long-ass driveway to the house.

"The people who own the house are outta town for the weekend. One burglary system, but I dealt with the same kind down in Missouri so we're good." Larry said more for his own benefit than Miguel's.

"No pets?" The other man asked with a childish look of fear on his face.

Larry sighed. "No pets. You know your job?"

Miguel sat up, nodding and opening his mouth to recite what they'd gone over on the ride up. "Stay out of sight, bring the bags in when you signal. Keep watch."

"Good." Larry said, craning his head as the house came into sight. It looked monstrous at night, creeping towards the sky with tall floors and fucking spires. Who the hell had spires on their house anymore?

He signaled and suddenly they were off, Miguel staying behind for his second signal. He crept towards the house swiftly, slipping black gloves on over his hands as he opened the front door softly.

The locks were butter in his hands a second later, sliding open with a small click. The small alarm console was already shrieking by the time he was inside, screen lit up and furious. He crooned at it under his breath, removing the front panel and crossing wires deftly. It shut off a moment later, flashing the 'disarmed' screen at him. He smiled and stepped outside, signaling Miguel with a wicked grin splayed across his face.

Go time.

Four bags and a simple safe lock later and they were stumbling out the door like drunkards, goofy grins all around. Miguel was hooting under his breath every few steps, something song in Spanish about being rich and powerful and stuff. Larry was just content to haul his bags along, feeling dangerous and quick and oh so sneaky.

Fuck Harvard and all their shit. He was boss, no denying it. He'd like to see those rich frat boys pull something like this off, motherfuckers.

They loaded everything into the car seamlessly, getting into the vehicle and out of the house in thirty seconds flat. Larry finally let his laughter out as they made it down the driveway successfully, hollering along with Miguel as his adrenaline surged.

"We fucking did it!" He screamed, tapping the wheel harshly. "You see Carlos pull off something like this?"

Miguel raised his head, puffing out a ring of smoke from the joint he'd rolled earlier. "Hell no!" He howled, cracking open a beer Larry hadn't seen. "Man, this is great. Imma go buy tons of shit, all the stuff we ain't had and everything else!"

Larry nodded along with that. "Amen, brother." He grabbed the half-finished joint from Miguel's fingers, taking his own drag. Suddenly, he felt a little melancholy. "Hey, you know what my mom said to me when I was little?"

"What?" Miguel asked dumbly, chugging more of his beer as he turned to stare at Larry.

Larry's mouth turned down to a sneer. "I wasn't ever gonna get nowhere without God. That angels were looking down and I had to make them happy. Can you believe that shit?"

Miguel froze. "Don't say that." He hissed, voice surprisingly low. His dumb-ass pig face was stuck in a fearful position.

"Say what? That it's shit?"

Miguel cringed at his words but said nothing, face paling as he turned to look out the window.

"Well, you know what?" He asked out loud, pressing down on the accelerator as the car raced past an empty field.

"Fuck God. I didn't get anywhere with his help. I did it on my own fucking two feet. Fuck him and all his angels."

Suddenly, a large pop echoed through the inside of the car, making Miguel flinch from his seat.

Steam started hissing through the AC as Larry cursed at it. He cursed even louder a second later when the car slowed, engine purring unhappily before dying unceremoniously thirty feet later.

"FUCK!" Larry screamed, blood rushing to his face. "Motherfucking fuck! Shit!"

Miguel looked on from his seat, waving a hand to clear the steam. The can of beer he'd been holding was on the floor, abandoned.

"We gotta get out, man." He told Larry a second later. "It could, explode, or something. I don't know."

"Shit!" Was all Larry was capable of saying at that moment, but he got out anyway. If only to kick the side of the stupid car, but hey.

They stumbled out onto the side of the road, collapsing in the field's overgrown grass. Miguel kept shaking his head and muttering to himself under his breath, and Larry was pretty sure he'd crossed himself at least twice. Making a decision, he stood up.

"I'm going to go figure out what's wrong with the car." He stated blandly, words breaking the eerie silence the country had.

"Ain't nothing wrong with the car." Miguel muttered under his breath, not looking up.

"Excuse me?"

Miguel looked up from where he sat, eyes wide. "Nothing, man."

"Don't call me that." Larry snapped before turning to walk back to the car. A small streak of light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Huh. Shooting stars were easier to see out of the city, weren't they?

"Madre de dio." He heard Miguel whisper, something akin to fear in his voice. "Oh no, no no no no."

"What?" He asked, turning to yell at the dumb shit. "What the hell is the fucking prob—"

A small explosion seemed to rip apart the field as something large and bright fell between them, causing Larry to roll and cover his eyes. The smell of something burning caught him a second later, and he looked up in fear.

Miguel was kneeling next to whatever had fallen, face streaked with tears in the moonlight. Larry felt his breath catch as he the other man turned, revealing terrible burn marks down the other side of his face, raw and so gruesome Larry could see bone. He felt nauseous and stumbled as he got up, unsure of where to go.

"Miguel?" He shouted forward, ears still ringing. "Talk to me, you bastard. Miguel!"

The other man didn't turn to him, but his lips were moving soundlessly.

"What?" Larry shouted, making his way towards whatever the goddamned idiot was kneeling over. He put a hand on the other man's shoulder, not looking at the burns as much as he could.

"Your fault. This is your fault." Miguel said, tears streaming down his face. "God punished us because of you." He said, stone-cold serious as he looked down at the smoldering whatever. Another light flashed out of the corner of his eye, and Larry instinctively ducked.

When no explosion occurred, he looked up at the sky and felt his knees drop from under him. The sky was streaked with gold, falling bodies burning as they split and colored the night sky gold instead of black. Their lights extinguished as they hit earth. With dawning realization, Larry looked down at the heap in front of him.

"Oh my god." He said, shaking his head. "Miguel. Miguel, hey!" He shouted, but the other man didn't speak. He looked back to find him keeled over, dumb eyes open blindly to the night sky.

"No!" He screamed, running forward. Miguel may have been the dumbest fuck in the world, but he was his motherfucking dumb fuck, goddamn. No amount of shaking would wake the other man, not like Larry thought it would anyways, and in the end he just kneeled next to him and cried, adrenaline and pot and beer playing havoc on his emotions.

He didn't notice the fire spreading around them from the impact area, and by the time he did, the smoke was too much to even really care about. He wouldn't leave Miguel alone out here, not even his body. Miguel was always so afraid of the dark, would cry and beg even as an adult not to be left alone. Larry sighed, feeling hazy as he took his jacket off and made a pillow out of it. Lying down next to his best fucking friend in the world, he didn't care about the fire around him.

* * *

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****:**** Don't forget to leave a review and dftba!:)**

**_if-llamas-could-fly:_**** Anybody else silently weeping? Anybody? Anybody? Well ****_I_**** am, but I'd be happy to give you some moral support if you need it. Be sure to leave a review! :) **_~Sammy_


	6. Reasons for a statue to weep blood

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_if-llamas-could-fly._**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: And here is another great chapter from ****_if-llamas-could-fly._**** I really loved the idea for this part and hope you do as well. I can't think of anyone else to write with who is so accommodating and plain out nice. Thanks! **

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****:**** Hey guys! So, this chapter is way more angsty than I intended, but hey, everybody loves angst so... whatever. I have to thank ****_TheResurrectionist_**** for being to absolutely awesome and dragging my butt past those points where I just don't want to go anymore. Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

* * *

_**Reasons for a statue to weep blood**_

The air reeks of desperation.

With every gust of the cold-yet-hot wind, a pungent odor wafts through; a mixture of sweat, grime, blood, tears and... is that burning flesh?

The ground shake with cries and wails and crackles and booming explosions. There's agony in every note of the discordant despair.

It's raining. Pouring, really. Drops of water plummeting to the ground, the skies cracking open with every roll of thunder. The sky should've been dark. The clouds should've covered up every trace of the heavens. And yet, the skies are lit up, like the fourth of July. And somehow, the fireworks in the skies are horrific, marring the harsh beauty of the storm.

There are giant balls of fire falling from the skies. There are screeches drawn out from the falling stars, their agonized keening faltering only when they flared up and died away. Fire keeps falling, wails keep fading away, and the world seems like it'll end amongst the shadows of fear and betrayal that hung in the air.

You pray.

You clutch at the rosary beads with all your strength, whispering the prayers that helped you fall asleep at night. You pray in the hopes that you would awaken from this nightmare.

You're witnessing the apocalypse, and all you can do is pray.

Latin tumbles from your trembling lips as you kneel before the alter, your eyes desperately drinking in the sight of the wooden cross before you. Your shaking fingers brush against the soft wood of the pews, and sweat pools beneath your clerical robes, the black cotton heavy against your skin.

You'd given so many sermons, strengthening your flock's belief in the Lord and His work. You'd baptized so many mewling infants, heard the confessions of so many sinners, blessed so many of the cursed. Your Faith was unfaltering and bone-deep, your every heart-beat thrumming with our love for God. And yet, in those moments, it was as if He had abandoned you.

The normally soft, forgiving eyes of Christ strung up on his cross are hard and cold, heartless.

The continuous sizzle of burning flesh echoes in the hallowed chambers, the stained glass windows shining with a heavenly light so unholy. Your lips are tingling with the hollowness of the words that once were comforting. The prayers tumble from your mouth, sliding off your tongue, aimed at nobody in particular.

"Praying isn't going to do anything anymore."

You turn around, your eyes widened with shock at hearing the voice. There's a man standing at the back of the church, or, rather, there was a man _barely_ standing at the back of the church. His clothes were ripped and frayed, his skin twisted and marred with burns, tears streaking down his ash-covered face. His expression was a swirl of pain, loss, sadness, devastation, anger and hopelessness. He lists to the side, his legs give away, and he falls to the stone floor. You're still shocked, but you rush forward anyway, to catch him. Because that is what you do; you catch people when they fall.

You put your hands on his back, and he hisses in agony, and the sound is a chorus of church bells. You let yourself deny, for a moment, the fact that the cry of pain was a long-forgotten prayer. Because that's ridiculous. The man twitches, and reaches, with a shaking hand, for his back, where you had touched him. His fingers brush the burnt and broken skin, and a whimper slips through his clenched jaw. You can almost hear him whisper, to himself, to you, the walls, or whatever entity was listening.

_'I knew that it had happened, could feel it burn away when I fell. I knew that they'd be gone, but now I know that it is true. I knew that it would hurt, we all did. You said it yourself. You said that it wasn't worth it, that the burden of the Host was better than the pain of losing them. So why did we fall? Why did we fall Father? Why am I in such pain? Why must we fall?'_

And there are tears dripping onto the ground, darkening the cool stone, and all you can think of is prayer, but somehow you know that it won't work with this man. Whether because of the hollow words he had first said, or because even prayer couldn't affect such levels of desperation, you're not sure. So you don't pray, you don't recite scripture, you don't quote genesis, nor do you pass on a sermon. You simply listen to his mad whispered ramblings, a hand on his head, and you wait it out.

_'Why must we fall, Father?'_

You have an answer for that one. You can't take away the burns, or the tears, but you _can_ take away the confusion. "When we fall, there is usually something that's given away. There is something that was too weak to hold out, and so we fall. We can fix the things that have broken. But we'll keep falling, until we decide not to. Until we spread out the wings that God has given us, and then we can fly, instead of falling."

He's looking at you with a peculiar expression. But it _can't_ possibly be what it looks like; he can't feel _pity_ for you. The man is broken in every sense of the word, so no, that look in his gray eyes can't be pity. But, somehow, it is, because his voice is colored with it too. "My wings are gone. I've fallen because I lost them. None of us have our wings anymore. We _can't_ stop falling."

Yep, that's _definitely_ pity in his eyes, and suddenly you feel small. There's a fading spark in him that's dimming with every passing second, but you know that it's still bright enough to be blindingly beautiful. And just as you know that The Creation was a wondrous thing, you know that this man is something different, something… holy.

And the man's coughing now, and his clothes smell of smoke, and his brown hair is singed where your fingers are still threaded through it, and then there are splatters of blood on the floor, right next to the teardrops, running through the cracks. And you suddenly remember that the man is hurt and he should be getting medical attention, and no matter how beneficial it would be for your soul to bask in the light of this shattered man, it would be more beneficial for him to get into an ambulance and-

"No." he says, with more forcefulness than a man of his condition should really be able to, especially when his chest is rattling, and there's blood dripping from his mouth. "No ambulances. There's no point. I'm beyond saving anyway."

You can feel your heart breaking by this point, and all you can do is hope that you're imaging the fact that he's breathing a bit shallower. He just smiles at you though, and it's like he can read your thoughts. "I'm not doing so great, but that's okay. I knew that this would happen. Guess I'm just lucky that I'm in a chapel, in the hands of a servant of the Lord. There are worse ways to die."

"You're not going to-"

"Yes I am. I'm going to die. It's going to happen, no matter what, so I'd just like to stay here, if you don't mind."

The pity's gone, and so is the resignation, and all that's left in those bright gray eyes is a plea. So you nod, and his hand wraps around yours. His fingers are soft. "Could you stay here, with me? I don't want to be alone."

You just shift him so that his head is in your lap, and you run your fingers through his hair, and he smiles again, and he finally looks satisfied. When you put your rosary in his hands, he strokes the tiny cross, the beads silently clacking against each other. He stares at the vaulted ceilings, eyes glimmering with the falling lights still shooting past the stain-glass paintings. It's peaceful, which is strange, because you're holding a dying man in your arms, the air still reeks of death, and the sky is still crashing down. And yet, there is peace within your chapel.

You're singing, you realize, some hymn you hadn't heard in years, and the man is smiling a bit more. You're not sure when the hymn became a prayer, all you know is that when it did, the man's eyes snapped open, and his expression was unreadable. "I already told you, there's no point in praying. Not anymore."

And you can see how it hurts him to say it. And maybe it hurts you to hear it too. "And why is that? Why should we not pray when we need comfort?"

He looks devastated, and you can feel a little tiny fissure in your Faith. "Because there's nobody left to listen to your prayers."

His eyes drift back to the falling flames, even as you're stunned speechless. You watch the stars fall, listen to the wails of pain, and you shudder. Suddenly, there's a hand touching your chin, pulling until you look at the man. He smiles once again, the widest you've seen yet, and it scares you how much his eyes have dimmed. "You know, I've watched over you for a while. I've listened to your sermons. You really do believe, don't you?"

You can only nod, because there are no words. He understands. "I know that it's a part of our job requirement, being holy, but you _are_. You're holy. You have a beautiful soul."

It's crazy, and impossible, but you just know that he's telling the truth, that he can really see it. And then he's reading your thoughts again. "I _can_ see it. And I swear it's beautiful."

You pull him closer, and you're sure that the burns on his back are pure agony, but he doesn't seem to mind. "It'll be… good. To die here. Still… in… the arms… of… of… Heaven…"

His eyes drift shut, and there are tears on his face, but they're not his, they're _yours_, because you're crying. Crying, because you _know_. You know the truth behind the falling fire, and the truth behind the man. You know that what you're holding is anything but a broken man..

And if, on the floor, amongst the tears and blood, there are the charred imprints of wings, then you'll cry a little bit more.

And the sky will continue to fall.

* * *

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: **** Don't forget to leave a review, and watch for more chapters!**

**_if-llamas-could-fly:_******** Okay then, that's that. I'll be back soon with more chapters, while ****_TheResurrectionist_****'s chapters go on a brief hiatus. Until then, leave a review, and keep being awesome! :) **_~Sammy_


	7. One deep breath before the Plunge

**THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY ****_if-llamas-could-fly._**

**Authors' Notes:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****: (**_Not available for comment.__**)**_

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****: Hey guys! So, uh, it's actually all manners of weird to be posting this without approval from my co-writer. Thing is, she's been on hiatus from the internet for a while, and will continue to be for a while. So, yeah. ****_TheResurrectionist_**** told me that I should at least ****_try_**** to get out a chapter, so here it is. My attempt at writing a chapter without the constant awesome moral support of my fabulous co-writer. It took much longer than something like this usually takes me, but that's what I get for trying to write through a bad case of Writer's Block while being attacked by other story ideas. Ugh. Also, outsider POVs are ****_exhausting_**** to write. Like, seriously. Anyway, here's the not-so-great chapter that was more than a week in the making. Hope you guys like it! :) **_~Sammy_

* * *

_**One deep breath before the Plunge**_

So… the world's ending.

_Again._

You'd think that after an entire _lifetime_ of screwing with me, life would give me a break, but _no_.

'No rest for the wicked' or some shit like that.

I grew up on a _farm_ for Godsakes. Most of my childhood was whiled away in open fields, playing amongst stalks of wheat. The closest I got to _danger_ was the slight chance of being attacked by a swarm of field mice.

Of course, the hunt isn't particularly picky about whom it drags in, any body with half a brain cell and four functional limbs is good enough.

So after three weeks of going crazy and learning the _truth_ from some asshole with no sense of empathy, I was a hunter. Which sounds pretty freaking awesome, right? Except it's not.

Unless you have a messed up sense of what's awesome, and you think that watching your parents be ripped apart by a black dog is awesome; in which case, you need some serious help.

I hunt _monsters_, and my idea of an easy weekend is a vengeful spirit and a cold beer. So facing the apocalypse? So _not_ cool.

Friggin Winchesters.

* * *

John was a goddamned _legend_, the best hunter there was. There wasn't a single hunter bar that didn't have his name being uttered in a dozen different whispers. He was either completely fearless or bat-shit crazy. Most of us assumed that he was a bit of both. I'd only ever met him once, a year or so before he died, and he was the most intimidating man I'd ever seen.

That is, until I met his sons.

The things you heard about Sam and Dean, you'd think that they were heartless sons of bitches. I mean, _damn_. We hunters are a tough bunch, but none of us _grew up_ hunting. It does things to a guy. And knowing about all this crap as a _kid_? I'm just surprised that those two aren't locked up in padded cells.

Okay, fine, they're not _normal_. I realised that the second I first saw them. They're the damn _definition_ of co-dependant. I heard, around a year after I saw them, that Dean had sold his _soul_ to save his little brother, and that Sam was _destroying_ everything that came in his way of getting Dean out of his deal. We should've known then, I suppose, that they'd be the death of us. It couldn't have been more obvious if it had hit us over our heads.

It's been _years_ since I saw them, since anybody _really_ saw them. And now they're legends too, but of a different kind. They're said to be immortal. Or well, even if they're not, it's impossible to keep them dead. I mean, what kind of a creature do you have to be to survive _Hell_, or to drink demon blood and let _Lucifer_ out of his box before sticking him back in?

They're _ruthless_. I've exorcised _demons_ that'd rather go back to Hell than stick around and meet those two.

And when it turned out that those damn alphas and the freaking Leviathan got out because of the Winchesters, none of us were really surprised.

Now the world's ending again, and it isn't that much of a leap to assume that the Winchesters are behind it again.

* * *

"Luke?"

I look away from the road, and Fred's sitting there, fear in his eyes. "Luke, what's happening?"

I don't even know, exactly, but Fred's been following me around like a lost puppy for two years now, and he thinks I've got all the answers, so I guess that I should say something. "It's the apocalypse, Freddy."

"W-What? I thought you said that the apocalypse is _over._ You said that the Winchesters-"

"I _know_ what I said. Now I'm saying that it's another apocalypse."

Fred looks like he might pass out, so I pull the car over to the side of whatever highway we're on, and I force him to look at me. "Listen to me, we'll deal with this. Don't worry. Whatever it is this time, we'll kick it in its ass."

"But what is it?"

And that's a brilliant question right there. What _is_ it?

The last few apocalypses have been pretty run of the mill, a far the as the end of the world goes. A sudden increase in monsters, storms and destruction, mass deaths, y'know, the usual. Even the alphas and the Leviathan pretty much followed that pattern. But this? This is something else entirely.

Because this isn't just the end of the world.

This time, the entire goddamned _sky_ is crashing to the ground.

And, okay, maybe Fred's not the only one who's freaking out.

The radio's been silent until now, 'cause the only music this stretch of the road got is some random country music that makes my ears burn. But now the radios buzzing for all it's worth, and I'd much rather have the country music. The buzz turns into a screech, and Fred's _crying_ and damnit why's my hunting partner such a pussy?

The car's too hot and the windows won't roll down because this is a crappy clunk of metal, so I have to shove the door open and stumble out. Fred freaking _whimpers_ and I groan before pulling him out too.

The outside isn't much better though. The air's hot as hell, and there's sweat dripping down my face, and I've pulled my gun out for some reason. The weapon feels useless in my hands, though, because really, what am I going to do? Shoot the damn _stars_?

Fred's got a death-grip on my arm, and all I can think about is how freaking _hot_ it is, and how much I really want an air-conditioner like _right now_.

Well, that, and that fact that there are hundreds of _things_ falling from the sky, and that they're on _fire_.

_Well then, I guess that salting and burning won't work on these things_. The voice in my head isn't really being particularly helpful, either. I think hanging out with Fred's got my IQ dropping a few points.

"Luke!"

I sigh, because I _really_ don't want to deal with a freaked out Fred at the moment. Especially since there's a damn _apocalypse_ going down, and he's just being a complete wimp. I swear, if the guy wasn't such a good shot, he would've died by now, and I-

"_Luke!_"

"_What?_"

Fred just shakes his head and points. I turn to look, and if Fred hadn't had such a tight grip on my arm, I would've fallen to the ground. Anyhow, I pulled with all my strength and dived behind the car, dragging Fred's ass with me. Because there's a freaking _gigantic_ flaming_…_ _thing_ hurtling towards us, and I don't deal well with things that are going to hit me.

The air gets even _hotter_ and I have a sudden sympathy for all the bones I've ever burned. Fire's a damn messed up way to go out. Fred is hyperventilating now, and maybe I'm a little bit breathless, but hey, I just dived out of the way of a freaking _fireball_, I'm allowed to be a bit out of breath.

Oh great. I dropped my damn necklace, and it's right next to whatever the hell that thing is, and I'm _so_ not going to try and get it back. Silver chain be damned.

The air feels like a goddamned _furnace_ now, and there's that _smell _of… charred flesh, and no, I'm not crying, that's just sweat. Seriously. I'm totally not sobbing. Nope. So what if a freaking supernatural _meteor_ just crash landed like three feet away from me? I'm the _definition_ of calm and collected. Really.

The _thing_ is moving, and Fred's aiming his gun at it, and I don't even know what happened to my own gun, because it's suddenly too heavy for me to lift. And somehow Fred's in front of me, and is he_ defending _me? He's trembling and his eyes are watering, but he's got his gun pointed at the _thing_, and I've somehow landed up behind him. Which is _not _how things are supposed to work. I push him aside and shuffle over the few steps that separate me from the still-flaming ball of whatever the fuck it is.

Okay, great, now the thing is freaking _moving_ and damn it why does this shit keep happening to me? Oh yeah, I'm a hunter. Crappy life experiences are part of the job description.

Whatever the hell this thing is, it doesn't seem to be fazed by the fact that I'm literally pointing a _gun_ at it_, _or that its godforsaken ass is _on fire_. Oh god, now it's moving closer, it's getting closer and where the hell is Fred right now?

"Fred, would you stop crying and help me shoot the damn thing?"

He sniffles and sobs out this disgusting wet noise, nods his head and he raises his gun again. I click back the safety of my Smith, and the _thing_ stops when it hears the sound. Which is good, because I was starting to get a bit freaked out. The thing raises what I think is its head, and Fred immediately drops his gun.

* * *

There's a _human_ face staring back at us. Complete with wide green eyes and a round nose and long black hair. It's streaked with mud and her features have _melted_ or something but she still looks pretty and... no. Not thinking about that anymore. Stopping that train of thought, like, _now_. She's freaking crying, and I'm _not_ feeling any _sympathy_ towards her or anything stupid like that. Nope. No. Definitely not.

But she's _human_.

Or, well, what looks like a human. It's not a shapeshifter, 'cause it's got its hand resting on my silver necklace, and its not even reacting to it.

Okay then. Possession? Demon?

Fred seems to have come to that conclusion faster than I have 'cause he's practically _screaming_ now. "_Christo_ you little bitch!"

She doesn't even blink, just looks at us with those damn doe-eyes.

Okay then. Human.

Falling-from-the-freaking-_sky- _while-on-_fire-_human, but still human.

Fred's got this crazed look in his eyes, so I turn away from the apparently-flammable-human thing to put my hands on his shoulders. "Okay, Fred, just calm down. Don't do anything stupid."

I make sure that he isn't going to spontaneously start shooting everything before I turn back to the finally-not-on-fire-anymore girl. Because she's just that. A little girl.

She can't be much older than twenty, but she looks absolutely haunted. Her eyes look like she's seen _war_ and that just looks so_ wrong_ on such a young face. She looks like a hunter.

And maybe I'm dealing with this whole thing a _bit_ too calmly, but honestly, I'd rather just take it all as it comes than panic every time I encounter something new. Hunters aren't allowed to freak out, and I'm a pretty damn good hunter.

I take a step towards her, and she smiles. Literally _smiles_, like I've made her day just by moving half an inch closer to her. She stretches her arms out, beckoning me closer, and I try not to flinch but her arms are fucking _destroyed_. I can practically _see_ bone peeking out from behind folds of flakey burnt flesh. A shudder runs down my back, and she's crying, _again_.

_Damn it all_.

I take another couple of steps towards her, and my hand's inches away from her head, but I don't dare touch her. She's not crying anymore, and she's staring at my hand now, like she just wants to grab on and never let go. Which is _really fucking creepy_. Okay, so maybe it's not _as_ creepy as her just crash landing in front of me, and being perfectly fine, aside from some serious burns. But it's still creepy, so I start to pull my hand away.

And she's got tears in her eyes again, and what is _with_ this girl? I can't even move three inches away from her without kickstarting the damn waterworks! Fred's tugging on my jacket, and I swear, the man is an overgrown toddler. "Luke, what'd you do?"

"I didn't _do_ anything, Fred. Just, shut up, would you?"

"If you didn't do anything, then why's the bitch crying?"

"_Don't call her that!_"

Fred's eyes widen, and I can feel my own jaw dropping. I don't even _know_ where that came from. I look back at the girl, but I'm not sure if I'm looking for an explanation or for some form of reassurance. All I get, though, is wide trusting eyes and another small smile that's way too all-knowing to make me comfortable.

My fingers brush against her hair, and she practically _beams_ at me, and I can't help thinking that maybe she's just got some serious attachment issues. Because really, if a complete _stranger_ ran a hand through my hair, I would _so_ not be smiling up at them.

"You're not a stranger."

I freeze. There's a complete silence, save for the still screeching radio, and the weird screams that seem to be coming from the damn _sky_, 'cause it's still bloody _collapsing_. And yet, it's silent, because I _know_ that that wasn't Fred's voice, and it sure as _hell_ wasn't me saying that, so…

"How can you be a stranger if I've known you forever?"

Great. It's the girl. The crazy girl who was just a freaking _meteor_ like five minutes ago, who has serious over-attachment issues, and is also apparently a delusional mind-reader. Because I've never even _seen_ this girl before, but apparently, she's known me for _forever_, which is ridiculous, and why the hell do I end up meeting all the crazies? I mean, Fred I get, the hunt's driven him to be a barely functioning man-child, but this chick? She literally lands in front of me, and claims that we've know each other for eternity. _What. The. Fuck._

"I _have_ known you for your entire life. I've watched over you from the day you were born."

Which is, again, ten different kinds of weird. Firstly because, how the _fuck_ does somebody even _watch over_ somebody? Secondly because I've easily got a good two decades more under my belt than she has and _nobody¸_ stalker or not, can 'watch over' people when they don't even exist yet.

"I'm sorry."

I don't even realize that I'm speaking before the words slips out of my mouth. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"

She just shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. "I was only supposed to keep _you_ safe."

A gunshot rings through the air, and the girl's got a hand pressed over her heart.

Fred's gun is smoking.

And I'm just frozen in place.

Fred storms forward as the girl slumps to the ground, and he nudges her with the toe of her boot.

I can't breathe.

Her green eyes are glassy and empty.

My own eyes fill with tears.

Because those eyes? I recognize them now.

* * *

_The campfire's too bright. _

_It's dancing and there's light bleeding out over everything._

_But the fire's throwing shadows too._

_And there, hidden in the shadows, is Fear and Terror and Death._

_Massive black paws of FearTerrorDeath pad softly across the darkened leaves and the dying grass._

_He's hiding, in another shadow, a safer one._

_And he's twenty, but he's crying, because there's blood on his face and his hands and his clothes, and his parents are lying somewhere, torn apart._

_FearTerrorDeath is moving closer, and he's dead, he knows he's dead, he'll be ripped apart by those claws and he's dead._

_That black snout is drawing closer._

_And then there's a blinding light, and FearTerrorDeath is gone._

_There's a girl there, and her eyes are bright green, and her skin's glowing with power. She's smiling at him._

_The campfire's still throwing shadows._

_For a second, it's like she has wings._

_She's smiling at him, but she looks sad. "I was only supposed to keep you safe."_

_He blinks, and she's gone, but there's a feather lying on the ground._

* * *

So… the world's ending.

_Again_.

The sky's lit up with falling meteors.

The ground in front of me is on fire.

I can barely breathe.

My gun is smoking.

My hunting partner's lying on the ground, with bullet-holes in his chest.

I've got a feather in my pocket, and the angel it belongs to is dead.

* * *

**Authors' Notes****:**

**_TheResurrectionist_****:**_(Not available for comment)_

**_if-llamas-could-fly_****_: _****so, yeah.****It took me more than a week to write that. Which is seriously embarrassing. **

***prays fervently that ****_TheResurrectionist's_**** hiatus is over soon* I miss my co-writer.**

**Anyway, leave a review, and let me know what you thought! :) **_~Sammy_


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